


Freudian Slip

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently, a case of mistaken identity was all it took.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freudian Slip

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted in 2013 on fanfiction.net and is now being crossposted here along with the rest of my work.

This was definitely a new side of Mulder, but it was one that she liked. She'd known there was a more relaxed, playful side of him in there. She'd seen glimpses of it plenty of times. But despite their camaraderie and closeness, they'd never had the chance to really just… be in each other's company. They were always on a case or fighting for their lives. This was nice.

Of course--and this might be the wine talking--it didn't help that whenever he got close to her she got a little dizzy. And not in the sick, I'm-going-to-faint way, but in the I'm-going-to-pin-you-against-the-wall way.

What? A girl can fantasize, right?

Right now, though, that fantasy was looking more like a reality by the second. The way he was looking at her… any other man and she'd be expecting him to ask his place or hers. But this was Mulder, and she couldn't be certain… they'd danced close many times, dropping comments that were undoubtedly flirtatious but never really went anywhere…

He leaned into her, over her, and she found she couldn't move. A part of her desperately wanted to push upwards, capture his lips with hers but she didn't want to break whatever spell they were under. He was so close, so close, and she–

The door banged open and she jumped, her head whipping around to see…

Oh God.

Oh. Dear. God.

Scully looked from one, to the other, and back again. She stared at the Mulder in the doorway. His eyes… the look in his eyes.

That. That was her Mulder.

She turned and pushed the false one off of her, scrambling to stand up. Now that she thought about it, his smell wasn't exactly right. She hadn't given it much thought but now she felt stupid for not having latched onto it in the first place.

Mulder--the real one--said nothing, looking at his evil twin with expectance and no small amount of cold fury. She watched in horror as the Mulder on the couch transformed, becoming… Eddie Van Blundht?

Oh Lord, she was never going to hear the end of this.

Maybe they could just leave this part of the investigation out of their report to Skinner?

* * *

Strangely, the teasing Scully had expected from her partner had not come. She didn't understand why, seeing as it was a properly embarrassing scenario, until after Mulder visited Blundht in prison.

She heard what the guy said to Mulder. When she saw the look on her partner's face as he signed out, she knew she had to fix it.

"You're not a loser, Mulder," she reminded him.

"Yeah, but I'm no Eddie Van Blundht either," he said. Was that bitterness in his voice?

"Mulder," she said exasperatedly, stopping just outside the prison doors. "You might not have a roaring social life, but you're far from a loser. You're the most driven, intelligent, passionate person I know. Now are you going to stop this pity fest or am I going to have to get you drunk?"

He grinned. "Drunk," he informed her, opening the car door.

She gave him her  _be serious_  look. "All that Blundht had was charm--and he needed the guise of someone else to do it. I wouldn't call that a victory over someone who can get a date by walking into the room."

Mulder looked surprised by that comment, but said nothing as they pulled out of the parking lot and hit the road. It wasn't until they were halfway back to the city, in fact, that he said anything.

"So what was the whole… thing I saw on the couch?" He asked.

Scully looked out the window, chewing on the inside of her lip. "Like I said, he was charming." She shrugged. "That's all."

"But you thought it was me," Mulder pointed out.

Um, yes. Good point.

"I was drunk," she added, even though it was entirely false. That was her first glass of wine she'd been holding, and she hadn't even finished it.

Mulder looked like he was trying to restrain laughter. "I've gone out to plenty of bars with you after cases, Scully. You can hold your liquor better than most men at the Bureau. One glass of wine? I don't think so."

They had reached the beltway now. Normally after a day that had them sharing a car, Mulder would drop her off at her house before heading home himself. Tonight looked to be no different as he took the exit that led to her house, rather than staying on for another twenty minutes and taking the exit that led to his apartment.

He was silent until they pulled in front of her house, and so was she. Self-preservation warred with desire inside of her, embarrassment playing a heavy part in both. Should she just give in and tell him? Should she play it off? Wouldn't he know the truth, either way?

Mulder cut the engine with a heavy sigh.

"You know, we've faced a lot of stuff together," he said.

She turned her head to look at him, but he was staring out of the car and into the night.

"But I've never faced a case that made me feel so…"

"Inadequate?" She joked dryly.

He snorted and glanced at her before going back to looking at the silent street. "Jealous."

Now she was definitely staring at him. She cleared her throat. "Jealous? Of yourself?" She said, trying to keep things light.

Mulder turned his head, and she found herself pinned by the open, deep look in his eyes. "I basically burst in on one of my own fantasies."

Scully wondered how her heart could have stopped without her dying.

He leaned in, and she couldn't help but think that this was so similar, and so different, from the night on the couch. His movements were more fluid, comfortable with his long limbs and lanky frame, and the look in his eyes, so raw and pained and hopeful all at once, was so natural and right and  _Mulder_.

She wondered how she could ever have mistaken Blundht for the real McCoy--or Mulder, as it were.

He brushed his lips against her softly, hesitantly, their noses bumping. She knew that, despite she being the one found about to make out with her partner on the couch, he was the one going out on a limb with this. She had admitted nothing. He was admitting everything.

She surged forwards, taking his lips like she had so often yearned to, opening her mouth and letting him taste her. It was soft and exploratory, unhurried as they savored each other. She could smell him as she inhaled through her nose, and this, the scent of sunflower seeds and aftershave and primal male, this was Mulder. This was the man she'd come to love.

He brought his hands up to cup her face, his fingers long enough to span all the way around the back of her head. She wanted more, pushing forcefully against his mouth, her tongue stroking his, trying to convey without words what she wanted.

"Scully…" He pulled them apart, his hands still cradling her.

"Come inside," she offered, bringing a hand up to grasp at his wrist. It wasn't like she'd only just discovered her attraction to him. This was years in coming. Not to mention it had been, what, five years since she'd had a partner in bed? It had been about a year and a half when she'd been assigned to the X-Files, and she'd had no one since then so…

She gave up. Math had never been her favorite subject.

Mulder looked ready to object, probably with some kind of stupid self-deprecating excuse, but she didn't give him the chance. She opened the car door, got out, walked around to his side, opened his door and yanked him out, kicking the door closed with her foot.

His grin bordered on a leer. "That was at least five kinds of hot."

She rolled her eyes but she was smiling as wide as he was. She led him up to the house, letting him crowd her against the door as she unlocked it, tilting her head as he peppered kisses down her neck. Maybe for some this would be moving too fast but for her it was too slow. This had been building up for ages, a slow but deliberate dance, smooth and natural.

As they entered the house she made to lead him to the bedroom, but he stopped her halfway through the living room. To her shock and infinite pleasure he dipped her, kissing her deeply and deliberately. Her small frame fit surprisingly well against his long, lean one, and she smiled against his mouth.

"What was that for?" She murmured once she was once again upright.

"Just giving Blundht a metaphorical middle finger," he informed her, waggling his eyebrows comically.

She laughed, the sound bursting out of her and surprising herself as much as Mulder. She took his hand and led him into her bedroom, feeling suddenly light and almost giddy, like she was back in high school and doing it for the first time.

That first time had been with Marcus, the "twelfth-grade love of her life," as she herself had said. She'd told Blundht about it, confided in him, and while she'd thought he was Mulder at the time that was no excuse. She made a mental note to tell Mulder everything she'd told Blundht.

After they'd finished this, of course.

She let him carry her to the bed, scraping her teeth along his neck, mouthing at the skin. She just couldn't get enough of him. She wanted to taste him all over.

It seemed like the closer they moved to the bed, the more frantic she became, undoing his shirt with trembling fingers and shoving both his pants and boxers down at once. Mulder remained deliberate through the entire thing, trailing his fingers over her skin as if cataloguing her, committing every part of her to his memory.

She felt like she was burning up, like she needed him in her or she was going to explode. Mulder seemed determined to spend the entire night kissing her, sucking at her skin as his hands kneaded her breasts, reducing her to bucking against him and mewling like--well, like the five plus years it had been.

Scully grabbed at his shoulder, burying her other hand in his hair and yanking him upwards, kissing him as hard and desperately as she could. He got the message then, thank God. They were always good at reading one another, something she was sending up a prayer of thanks for. Mulder's hands left her body, leaving her feeling cold and small, in order to brace them on the mattress and enter her.

He was moving slowly, painfully slowly, inching his way into her. She forced herself to remain still, her eyelids fluttering at the feeling of being stretched and filled to the absolute limit.

Even after he was in her completely, however, he didn't move.

"Mulder…" She whispered. She brought her hands up to place them on his cheeks, her eyes searching his face.

"You…" He shook his head slightly, a grin flitting across his face for a moment. "Just--you." He brought a hand up to stroke her forehead with his thumb, brushing her hair out of the way. "You." He leaned down, pressing his lips to her cheek. "You." He repeated, kissing the corner of her mouth. "You." He kissed her full on the mouth that time, and she found herself smiling helplessly up at him.

"You, too," she replied, not sure exactly what it meant and yet knowing, deep inside of her, all the way down to her soul. It was everything and nothing, a promise and a confession.

He began to move, finally, fighting the fire raging in her veins with one of his own, one that he gave her, an infinite stream of pleasure that burned white-hot. She hadn't gotten that far but she knew that Blundht wouldn't have been able to do this to her. The case of mistaken identity would have made it good enough but he wasn't the real Mulder. He didn't know her inside and out and upside down. He wasn't able to read her every facial expression, every hitch of her breath, every look in her eyes. He wasn't able to understand all the words she didn't utter, the things she didn't say. Mulder,  _her_  Mulder, could and did and, God willing, would until they both succumbed to the long march of time.

The climax was quiet for all of the buildup, the satisfying finish to a book that you've been reading, expected and yet still amazing. He buried his face into her hair, his breaths stuttering and gulping, the fall and rise of his chest matching hers. He made to pull away, perhaps to wash up or even go back to his place but she couldn't let him. She held him to her, rotating her body so that he could press his chest against her back, holding her. His grip was loose, but he might as well have been clutching at her because she was never, ever leaving his embrace.

He breathed something into her ear, but sleep was already claiming her so she didn't quite catch it. It was no matter. She'd ask him about it in the morning, when she told him all of the things she'd told Blundht while thinking it was Mulder, and they'd get coffee and hopefully get to work on time.

And maybe, once this had become routine, they could laugh about this because really, how cliché and terribly reminiscent of a romantic comedy because really--a case of mistaken identity? Walking in on your love interest with someone else?

Scully fell into sleep with the ghost of a laugh on her lips.


End file.
